Faded Flower
She presses a hand to her face and wonders what's happened to her life. Staring back at her is a face she was not born with; the nose, the eyes, the lips, the chin, the breasts; all resculptured to her heart's desire. Now it backfired, for every time she looked into the glassy glow of its surface she shrunk back in horror.
Her lips didn't look right; then her eyes, then her hands...she looked at her hands and purple track marks glowed between the joints. She frantically began to daub on flesh-colored makeup, hoping to make the evidence disappear.
Where the fuck was her fix? She finished with her hand and lit a cigarette, trying desperately not to think, because thought meant pain.
It always led her back to him, and her missed opportunities.
Hell, she could pretend; she was a party girl, damnit; she could put on the makeup and flirt her way through anything. And if push came to shove, she'd yank her dress up. But on her terms.
When her eyes fell closed, she could see him standing before her still. It was a powerfully beautiful image, and she clung to the thought of him blessing her like a saint.
He would hate her if he'd known that her first question to promoters looking to hire her for work was "Can you get me something for my pain?" And "something" was a code word for heroine.
She seized the envelope when it arrived for her; the "runner" for that night gaped at her low-cut gown. She should have flirted with him; instead she slammed the door in his face and went about getting herself a fix.
She smiled silently to herself when the substance at last entered her veins. Now well-being could overcome her; she would marry for good one day, have a house, a family; she would get out of this place and this cycle. She just needed this for her peace of mind..
In her head, as she fell to the floor, she could hear her mother calling for her, calling her by baby names long forgotten: Honey, pumpkin, sweetness, lamb; it enveloped her like a chant... Honey, pumpkin, sweetness, lamb Honey, pumpkin, sweetness, lamb...